The Night of the Shadows
by RingsAkhaten
Summary: Artemus learns an uncomfortable truth. Substance abuse/prostitution within, be warned.


Stepping off the dimly lit sidewalk and into the darker alley beyond, Artemus paused to gather himself. His posture tightened, his shoulders bending forward to lower his head. His eyes narrowed, assuming a furtive manner, one that spoke of a wary desperation.

Already, he smelled strongly of whiskey, but an untidy swallow from the dirty bottle in his hand spattered his clothing with droplets and stained at his collars and chin. Now, sufficiently drunken and suspicious in appearance, Artie fine-tuned the small details of his performance.

The hunger he now placed within his eyes was entirely affected, but his fear was utterly real.

Ahead, now, the first figure appeared. He was slender, well-made and leaning in the same, casual way, but Artemus knew his partner too well. A hot, lingering inspection from eyes as dark as his own confirmed what Artie already knew.

Pausing again, he allowed the young man the courtesy of a lingering appraisal, then, with another long swallow of liquid courage, he continued on his way.

A heartbeat later, and a fair young something with long, golden curls stepped boldly into his path, a waft of perfume mingling in the acrid odor of his whiskey. His face was powdered and his lips inexpertly covered in a harsh red stain but he towered a full head taller than Artemus.

This time, his refusal was made as bluntly as the proposal, and earned him an earful of colorful abuse. With a genuine need of his whiskey prop, Artemus downed another fortifying swallow as the shrill fury behind him quickly turned to a smothering honey.

Glancing behind him, Artie was unsurprised to see the other man now so warmly plied by his former attacker. He was only one of many that lingered in the streets and saloons nearby, watching the alley, and waiting for their courage, or for the right moment to strike. Even now, as Artie took more comfort from his bottle, yet another wary figure emerged, passing easily by his now very occupied attacker.

Tensing slightly at the approach, Artie turned away with his bottle, to send an obvious signal of unavailability. To his great relief, the man moved on without a second glance, and after a respectable pause, Artie resumed his own crawl through the alley.

Ahead, a soft, almost sensual chuckle emerged from the shadows and every hair on Artie's body seemed to stand on end at the sound. The answering voice, lurid and heated with an edge of something unbecoming caused Artemus to quicken his pace. Unbidden, his chest tightened, his hand slipping down the length of the bottle to grasp it by the end.

His performance all but forgotten, Artie's eyes cleared and widened as his gaze was captured by the two figures before him. A stab of hot fury tightened his grip on the bottle to the point of shattering and in the next instant, Artemus heard the sharp ringing of breaking glass.

The pain that followed it instantly snapped him from his reverie, but it was far, far too late to recover the moment. Only one figure remained in the alley, his changeable eyes, now bright with intensity held Artie's for only the briefest of moments. It was long enough.

Then, a sudden clamor rose up from the street behind Artie's shoulder, and within an instant, all light on the street went out. Instinctively diving for cover, he found himself grasped by the arm and shoulder. A burly, blue clad giant of a soldier simply tossed him into the arms of several other assorted military types and he found his ears again abused by the shrill vitriol of his earlier acquaintance.

Another quick glance around him confirmed his worst suspicions. The alley was being cleared. One by one, all of his previous interlocutors were swiftly and quickly dragged away, but to Artemus' eternal relief, one face was not found among them.

A spasm of pain creased his brow and his fist clenched as a deeper realisation came upon him. Even now, as he was dragged from the alley to a waiting wagon, Artie could see the others, the ones still watching and waiting, now slipping away into the darkness. This row, no matter how well intended, would only serve to drive the murderer into the shadows, beyond the reach of even the most elaborate operation. It was over.

Now, Artemus' eyes closed tightly in shame as a wave of guilty relief washed over him. Unbidden, he saw again in his mind's eye the images of the alley. The dark, leather clad hand reaching outward to stroke lightly over Jim's stomach, the tight muscles rippling..

Sinking down into the seat of the wagon, Artemus covered his eyes with his palms, aware for the first time of the his own bleeding, of the fragments of glass penetrating his skin and of something else deeper inside him much more problematic and greatly more painful.


End file.
